


Harsher than Death

by IndigoDream



Series: What He Is [3]
Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, Feral Jaskier | Dandelion, God!Jaskier, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Immortal Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion Being a Little Shit, M/M, Past Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Queen Ciri, but not too graphic, no I don't respect canon, some blood, some violence, yennefer is done with this bullshit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-30
Updated: 2020-03-30
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:21:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23395441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IndigoDream/pseuds/IndigoDream
Summary: Jaskier and Geralt come to spend the winter with Ciri in Cintra, and Yennefer joins them. Everyone notices that Jaskier isn't quite himself, but when asked about it, he's evasive. When Yennefer confronts him, she realizes the issue and decides to help him, but the impromptu arrival of an unmannered lord creates issues.--Jaskier is a god, and gods are immortals, but there are some unpleasant consequences to that immortality. Now that he is happy with Geralt, Jaskier isn't quite willing to risk those consequences, and that plays against him.
Relationships: Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Jaskier | Dandelion, Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion & Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Series: What He Is [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1679437
Comments: 34
Kudos: 603





	Harsher than Death

**Author's Note:**

> Woohoo I've finished this series! 
> 
> This was uh, a very efficient quarantine distraction? I loved writing them so much that, if inspiration strikes again, I might add stuff! If people have request, stuff they want to see happen in a potential next fic, don't hesitate: leave a comment, send me an ask on tumblr (@saltytransidiot), send a pigeon carrier... Anything! I would be glad to write more on this :) 
> 
> If you haven't looked at the tags and are somehow believing that this is, in some way, shape or form, canon compliant... I'm sorry. This is WILDLY out of canon. I must make a few things clear: I am only halfway through the TV show, I have not read the books, and my only knowledge of the video games is when my roommate plays them and I interrupt to ask stupid questions. (If you're my roommate, I'm sorry for massacring canon this way, forgive me). Canon has been thrown out of the window a while back, and its dead body has been buried.
> 
> Anyhow, after this weird tangent! Thank you for following me along this wild ride of a series! What He Is is finished with this fic! However, The Godly Verse still has... some weirder stuff coming in the upcoming week. It's a little out there, a lot weirder, but I've been assured that it's mostly sensical. Mostly... 
> 
> Enjoy this fic, don't hesitate to leave a comment, and thank you for the warm welcome I've received in this fandom!

The castle looms in the horizon as they make their way through the streets of Cintra’s capital. Geralt is walking alongside a thrilled Jaskier, who is already plucking at the strings of his lute with excitement, and holds Roach’s bridle. He hates cities, and capitals like Cintra are always bustling with life and excitement. He remembers being here with Jaskier for the first time, about thirty years ago, and remembers how he had already disliked it. Jaskier thrives here though, and they are going to visit Ciri and to stay with her for the winter, sheltered from the constant irritating movements by the thick walls of the castle. 

It had been a struggle for Ciri to return to her people, to take her place as the new Queen of Cintra. She had wanted to stay with Geralt and Jaskier, travelling with them fearlessly and hunting monsters. She had had a knack for it too, Geralt can freely admit, but he would forever have blamed himself if something had happened to his Child of Destiny. His mistake all of those years ago had paid off into him loving that child to the end of the world. That she loves him right back, that she has called him her father a few times, is something he never expected. 

“Stop brooding,” Jaskier teases a particularly high note from his lute, “Soon we will be amongst the finest company this country has to offer, I’ll be able to play to my heart’s delight, and you and Ciri will train every morning like the idiotic warriors who can’t take a break you both are.” 

Geralt hums, a small smile tugging at his lips. His bard is right. Ciri is probably out of shape too, he hasn’t seen her since last winter, and he has heard she has been busy getting the country back in proper shape after some Nilfgaardian small attacks. When he had heard that, Jaskier had had to convince Geralt that no good would come of riding out there to kill them all. 

“Ciri’s able to handle it,” the bard had said, his unnatural strength keeping Geralt in place with only a hand on his chest. “You made sure of it. She has ways to contact you if needed, and Yennefer would also not let her get hurt. You know your sorceress has always found a way to make sure Ciri is alright.” 

Geralt huffs slightly at the memory, the smile on his face making Jaskier suspicious. 

“What has got you all smiling now?” 

“You,” Geralt shrugs. He doesn’t need to say more with Jaskier, it’s one of the things he loves about the man. Well. The _god_. 

Over six months have passed since Geralt learnt about it, but he still sometimes wonders if he didn’t hallucinate it all. Jaskier is sweet, kind. He laughs brightly and openly, and he isn’t afraid to feel anything, to show his feelings on his face and to share them with the world in his songs. But sometimes… Sometimes, someone makes a comment about Geralt, nasty and backhanded. Someone refuses to pay him for a contract he has fulfilled, and even after arguing, there is no getting the money. It’s when that happens that Geralt is reminded of the godly blood of his lover. 

A few times, Jaskier’s eyes have glowed that sky blue as he stared at the people insulting Geralt. It had never been big things, but there had been a few inexplicable accidents; one had fallen and broken his wrist, another had had his foot cut off in a freak accident while working at his farm… Geralt had insisted to Jaskier that it was unneeded, unnecessary, and Jaskier had shrugged it off. 

“I don’t control what happens to them,” he had said casually, removing his clothes as he walked into the bath they had gotten that night. “Things just tend to happen to people who are… wrong.” 

The distaste he had shown, the lack of remorse… Geralt knows he should not find that as attractive as he does, but he has never had anyone protect him in that manner. Never had anyone willing to kill just to make sure he is comfortable and happy. And after all, Jaskier had respected his promise of not harming anyone the way he had the night he had told Geralt what he truly was. So Geralt had written off the few odd accidents and had enjoyed the love Jaskier gave so willingly. 

“What have I said or done now that gives me the great honour of seeing the White Wolf himself smile?” 

Geralt rolls his eyes. “Nothing anymore, bard, I can assure you that won’t happen again.” 

Jaskier hums happily and walks a bit ahead of him, turning his back to the street as they walk through it. He’s graceful, avoiding people without even a glance backwards, and he winks at Geralt. 

“Somehow, I highly doubt that, my witcher.” 

Geralt doesn’t answer to this, but they are both aware that Geralt can’t deny Jaskier much, and a smile is a small price to pay for the happiness that seeps off Jaskier when they are together. 

The guards at the gates of the castle let them enter without stopping them, and doubtless they have been told to expect the White Wolf and his bard, because they straighten up slightly as Jaskier walks in first. The bard is singing one of his newest songs, and Geralt can tell he isn’t pleased by the words just yet. The bard has a specific way of working through his songs, and if it wasn’t so annoying to hear him go over rhymes and couplets over and over again for days, Geralt might call it endearing. 

They are stopped at the actual doors of the castle by a young guard, who is smaller than Jaskier, but much more built. Though, Geralt thinks as he remembers the way his lover had pinned him down a few nights prior, Jaskier doesn’t need to have the physical mark of strength. It’s all in his blood already. 

“Master Geralt of Rivia and Master Jaskier?” The guard asks, looking at them with something resembling admiration. “The Queen has asked that you be led directly to her private reception rooms.” 

A servant advances and bows to Geralt, and with a slight grunt, the witcher lets them take Roach’s bridle. If anything happened to his horse, this servant would be the first one to pay for it. Still, he trusts that Ciri’s people will take good care of the mare.

The guard shifts a bit, his nervous admiration already annoying Geralt. “If you would follow me…” 

Jaskier grins happily, and for a moment Geralt glimpses those sharp teeth, but they are gone in the blink of an eye. 

“Stop searching for it,” Jaskier whispers as they start walking behind the guard, “It’s quite inappropriate for you to have such thoughts when we are about to see Ciri for the first time again in a year.” 

Jaskier’s teasing makes Geralt grunts. His lover had been delighted when he had realized Geralt actually /liked/ his sharp teeth, and he spent half his time now teasing him with it. Jaskier really had mastered that balance of annoying and endearing, Geralt was well aware of that. From anyone else, he would not have let the teasing go. Except maybe Ciri. She had taken up after Jaskier in the later years she had traveled with them, teasing and poking fun at Geralt. 

They enter Ciri’s private reception rooms, and here the lavishness of the castle, of royalty, is lesser. The walls are more bare, stripped of the large banners, and the windows are thrown open, letting in the fresh air of the day. Jaskier shivers lightly, more sensible to the cold than Geralt or Ciri are. The witcher gives him a questioning look, and Jaskier shakes his head.

“I’ll be fine,” the bard says, “the castle is just very warm compared to here.” 

Geralt hadn’t really noticed, but he grunts in acknowledgment, and allows Jaskier to come closer. He wraps his arm around his lover’s waist and Jaskier puts his head on his shoulder, sighing in contentment. 

“Thank you,” he murmurs lightly, and Geralt caresses his hair. 

He isn’t tender, isn’t as affectionate as Jaskier is, but he has his own way of showing the endless affection he has for his companion. Providing for him, making him sure that he is satisfied and well… Those are the only ways Geralt knows how to properly care for Jaskier. He doubts he’ll ever be able to tell him the words of devotion Jaskier whispers in the early morning, when the hunt has been rough the previous night. But this… this he can do. 

“Geralt, Jaskier!” The delighted voice of Ciri drags Geralt out of his thoughts and he sees his Child of Destiny, grown into a beautiful young woman, running to them from the other side of the room. 

He catches her, twirls her in his arms just to hear her sparkling laughter. She is a bush full of roses, he knows that, but when you get past the thorns she has created to protect herself, she gives herself over and over. He is thankful he has her trust.

“It is good to see you, Ciri,” he says roughly, and she kisses his cheek. “Have you been well?” 

“Oh Geralt, don’t hog the queen all to yourself,” Jaskier complains and pushes him over lightly, taking Ciri in his arms and hugging her. “Look at yourself, dear one, you’re even more beautiful than the previous year!” 

“And you still haven’t changed, Jaskier,” she replies fondly, hugging him back. “And yes, Geralt, I’ve been well! Cintra is finally healing from its wounds, and while there are still skirmishes, we can take care of it without any issue. How has the hunting gone?” 

Jaskier smiles fondly at his family as they start discussing the witchering business. He moves around the room, his hands cooling down significantly now that he is away from Geralt. He has been getting colder and colder recently, has lost his ability to regulate properly his body’s heat. He knows what it means, and he dreads it. So for now, he simply busies himself with closing the windows and starting a fire in the well-stocked chimney. The ambers he breathes out are faint and thin, and he feels a hot flash of shame and anger in himself as he struggles to start the fire. 

“Let me,” Geralt says, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “Go rest, bard, you are tired.” 

“Are you alright Jaskier?” Ciri’s worry is sweet, and he smiles at her as he nods. 

“No need to worry, dear one. Our witcher is just overly protective, you know how he can be!” 

She grins, laughter pearling out of her throat slightly, and he laughs with her. She’s no longer his Lion Cub, she has become the new Lioness of Cintra. He remembers her grandmother, the anger she had had against magic, and wonders if Calanthe would be satisfied of the woman her granddaughter has become. He doesn’t have to wonder if she would have let him sing at her court, had she known that Geralt would claim the child her daughter was unknowingly carrying as his. Or if she had known the bard her master of the house had requested was a god of Old. 

“Quit making fun and go rest,” Geralt grunts as the fire roars in the hearth, and he pushes Jaskier to a seat. “Or at least stop moving around like an anxious mother hen.” 

Ciri watches them, her eyes clever and quick, and she tilts her head to the side slightly, in a move so reminiscent of Geralt it tugs at Jaskier’s heart. No matter what anyone thinks or says, Geralt is her father and he raised her and loved her, in the only way he knew how to love someone. 

“So, you’ve finally worked things out between the two of you?” She grins at Geralt. “Did you finally figure out our dear Jaskier isn’t going to leave us so soon?” 

The witcher rolls his eyes and sits opposite her, keeping a warm hand on Jaskier’s thighs. “Before you start gloating, perhaps you could have told me?” 

“At first I thought you knew,” she shrugs with a smile, “and then it was really entertaining to see you not knowing.” 

“Hmm. You’ve spent too much time with Yennefer.” 

She grins. “Perhaps. Did I mention she is spending the winter here as well?” 

Jaskier groans. The sorceress and Ciri have a special bond, definitely, and far be it from him to even think about saying something against her. But she is also Geralt’s… bonded soul, or something like that. The gods must have had their fair share of laughter at seeing one of their own fall for a man who had deliberately chosen to tie himself to another, in such a way that it was undoable. Yennefer and Jaskier have also had their share of… arguments, Jaskier wants to say politely. Fights and outright pettiness could be a better description probably. But at least, she had respected his wish to leave Geralt unknowing of his godly status, and Ciri as well. Ciri knows he doesn’t age, or ages slower than any mortal, but she doesn’t know he is a god, yet. He’ll have to tell her this winter, since both Yennefer and Geralt know, and he feels it would be unfair to leave her out of the loop this way. 

“Oh come on, Jask,” she says affectionately. “Won’t you two make an effort for me? I am so happy to have my family with me for the winter!” 

“You really know how to manipulate my heart, my Lion Cub,” he shakes his head and kisses the hand she had extended to cover his own. “I’ll behave, but only if she does as well.” 

Ciri laughs, and Jaskier smiles brightly. No matter the unpleasantness that awaits him in the near future, as long as he has his family, everything will be alright. 

Later, before the private dinner that Ciri has organized, they are taken to the same room they were in the previous year, but this time there is only one bed, and Jaskier is glad for that. It’s a luxurious and warm room, and Jaskier would purr in delight if he were feline. When servants draw up the bath Ciri had ordered they get, he doesn’t even offer to Geralt to have the first go at it; if the witcher wishes to, he can come in with Jaskier, the bath is definitely large enough, but Jaskier wants the steaming hot water to burn him, to rejuvenate him. The servants have barely finished pouring the boiling water in the large tub that Jaskier is already slipping in it. 

“My lord,” one of the maids squeaks, “you’ll burn yourself!”

“He’ll be fine,” Geralt grunts from the entrance of the bathroom, and the two maids scuttle away immediately. 

Geralt undresses and Jaskier takes pleasure in watching his lover shed his layers of clothing. The witcher is an absolute delight to look at, and sometimes Jaskier can barely believe that he gets to have all the glory of the White Wolf to himself. It’s a bit selfish, he supposes, but he has always been selfish. He has always loved luxuries and fineries, and he has a taste for all that is exquisite. No matter how much Geralt denies it, Jaskier knows he belongs in that category. 

“Stop lusting,” Geralt rolls his eyes, climbing into the tub, the water level rising and the heat clinging to Jaskier’s throat now. “Wasn’t it you who said it was inadequate to have such thoughts when we are seeing Ciri for the first time in a year?” 

Jaskier hums in delight, comes to curl himself in the arms of his witcher, sighing in contentment at the solid body against him. “I did, but the first meeting has been had, and I am allowing myself to enjoy the pleasures of life. And you, my dear witcher, are definitely one of the pleasures of my life.” 

He places a kiss on Geralt’s jaw, smiling softly to himself as Geralt looks away. The man’s arms come to close around Jaskier and he drops a kiss to his hair. 

“You couldn’t light the fire earlier.” 

Jaskier sighs, closes his eyes and sinks into the water, his head resting on Geralt’s chest still, and warm hands slowly wash his hair as he stays silent. He doesn’t want to answer this, doesn’t want to have to explain to Geralt _why_ he couldn’t light the fire, why he has been getting colder and colder every day. He _can’t_. If he did, he knows how Geralt would answer, and Jaskier has no intention of endangering Geralt in such a way. 

“It’ll pass,” he finally says after his hair has been thoroughly washed, after Geralt’s hands have stilled and his thumbs are idly caressing his companion’s shoulders underneath the water. “Just a temporary weakness.” 

Geralt hums and then makes Jaskier look up delicately, his movements slow and careful. “You’ll tell me if there is anything I can do to help?” 

_Oh, you beautiful fool,_ Jaskier thinks sadly, but he doesn’t say this, simply nods and kisses the palm of the hand that was holding his chin. “Of course.” 

Some maneuvers later, Jaskier is the one taking care of Geralt’s hair, making sure it is restored to its white glory. It’s a task he enjoys, something that, even before this development between them, the witcher allowed him to do, whenever they could afford to. The trust that he is shown in those moments, has been shown for years now, Jaskier cherishes it. It isn’t always easy, to be the companion to a witcher, even when one is a god. There are still moments when Geralt tenses up around Jaskier, especially when he is just back from a hunt and his potions are still coursing through his body. There are moments when Jaskier fears that Geralt will leave, abandon him behind and return to Yennefer. 

“Yennefer isn’t a threat for you,” Geralt says in a low rumble, his eyes opening back up to stare at Jaskier. 

“I know,” Jaskier answers, but his voice betrays him and he sighs, pressing a tender kiss to Geralt’s forehead. “I am just afraid you will one day realize that you belong with her, and not with me. You bonded with her, might I remind you, and—“ 

“And nothing,” Geralt cuts in. “She was dear to me once, and she will forever be, but she does not compare to you. Never has.” 

It isn’t the first time they have had a discussion around the subject, and it isn’t the first time Geralt has said something of the sort, but in between each, Jaskier becomes more insecure, more worried that his love won’t be enough. He has known heartbreak, has seen life drain out of his lovers, has experienced more pain than any lifetime can fill on a mortal scale. He can never forget those experiences, often draws on them for his songs, but sometimes they overwhelm him, leave his heart bleeding. Especially when he is weakened, like he has been experiencing lately. 

“I chose you years ago Jaskier,” Geralt insists, “long before I knew what you truly are. And when you told me, I still chose you.” 

Jaskier bends down and drags a kiss from the lips of his lover, takes advantage of the awkward position to run his hands over Geralt’s chest. 

“I know,” he whispers with all the devotion and love he has, and this time, he means it. 

Yennefer arrives two days after them, and while she rolls her eyes at the way Geralt wards her off when she teases them about their new relationship, Jaskier has the odd feeling she is happy for them. She doesn’t tell Ciri about his godly status either, and that makes him a bit suspicious, but he is also aware that Yennefer loves the girl like her own daughter. If the sorceress is putting Jaskier’s secret within her “protecting Ciri” mindset, then it’s all the better for the god. 

They are two months in the winter, and the cold has really settled over the country, snow bracketing the walls of the castle, and Jaskier is still torturing himself over how to announce it to Ciri. She is busy, and he likes to watch her train with Geralt and Yennefer in the mornings, practicing her magic and swordfighting. He can’t go outside anymore though, and now, even when he sits himself at the window, bundled up in the thickest blankets he could find, he feels the cold seeping into his bones, trying to devour his godly blood. If the gods are watching, something he has come to doubt, they must be mocking him endlessly. The god who wanted to be human so badly he was willing to let his heart freeze over it. 

Surprisingly, it is Yennefer who brings up the matter to him first. 

“Geralt is worried about you,” the sorceress says as she walks back inside after training Ciri. “He says you are not yourself anymore. So, what is it, godling?” 

He bristles at being called godling, but he doesn’t have the heart to send her a wave of irritated magic. He could, if he mustered himself, but he keeps his energy for when Geralt and Ciri are around. 

“Nothing of your concern, witch,” he answers in the same haughty tone she had taken. 

“So you would cause Ciri and Geralt pain simply to spite me?” She looks at him harshly and sits across from him on the window ledge, pushing his legs out of the way slightly. “You don’t have the same fire anymore, Jaskier. To think that a relationship would mellow you this much… Quite pathetic.” 

He doesn’t answer, simply looks back towards the courtyard where Ciri is besting Geralt with a wild glint in her eyes. 

“Oh,” Yennefer breathes out, and when he looks back towards her, her purple eyes are full of pity. “Your fire is leaving you, really.” 

“As I said, it’s none of your concern,” he snaps, retreating on himself. “I can handle myself perfectly well.” 

“You aren’t doing it,” she snaps back, “and your loved ones came to me to see if I could help you with whatever you are going through. You imagine I’m not exactly pleased at being here talking with you either, but I care for Ciri, so I agreed to see you and help you. Now stop being difficult, or I’ll tell them both exactly why you are looking so pale and sickly.” 

“Don’t you dare,” he hisses out and moves up, and suddenly he is alive, burning with a godly fire. 

“Ah, there you are godling,” she smiles, pleased with the reaction she has gotten out of him. “Your fire still burns inside you. You need to let it run free. You are stifling yourself, what for? Geralt knows and Ciri will know soon enough too. You are a god, not some pathetic little creature who dies at the first sign of weakness. When was the last time you really let yourself burn?” 

The cold takes hold of him again and he sighs heavily. He wishes his mortal body could withstand walking into fire. He had tried it, many centuries ago, and creating himself anew had taken him several months.

“When, Jaskier?” The question is gentler, and her hand settles over his. He can feel her warmth going into his body; she is concerned enough that she is willing to share some of her energy with him. Maybe they can settle on some sort of compromise, Jaskier thinks. All hope is clearly not lost. 

“About seventy years ago,” he murmurs, feeling the shame bright within him. “I’ve felt the need since Ciri found Geralt, but I thought…”

She picks up when he trails off. “You thought you needed to stay with them. But Geralt has known for a few months now, hasn’t he? Why not do it before coming here, before the winter settled and your fire started really dying out? You are a god, Jaskier. Don’t let yourself become hollow of power…” 

“It’s not that easy,” he sighs heavily and retreats his hand from hers, afraid of his own need latching onto her and taking out all her energy. “Geralt… Geralt doesn’t understand what it means, if I shed my mortal face. He has only seen it partially… And I’m afraid of hurting him. Or Ciri. Even you, Yennefer. A snap of my fingers when I’m like that and you would drop to the ground without resistance.” 

“Jaskier,” she says a bit sternly, and when he doesn’t look at her, she grabs his chin and forces him to look at her. Steel is in her purple irises, so far from the pity from before. This is a Yennefer he understands better. “You are a god. Not a monster. You have control over yourself, even when you are in your purest form. I don’t doubt your power, I’m not stupid, but I also know that you would never do anything to harm Ciri or Geralt. Even me, because you know my death would harm those you love.” 

“I’m nothing more than a beast in that form.” 

“Have you nothing better to do than despise yourself?” The words are harsh, but at least she grabs his attention. “You are the only god who remained on this land, aren’t you? You chose this life. There are unpleasant effects to it, but everyone lives with some unpleasantness. Geralt is hated by most, yet he never stops because it is his way. His potions hurt him, but he needs them to win sometimes. My magic sometimes leaves me drained. Ciri became a queen for the people of Cintra, but we all know she would rather be out there, in the wilderness with Geralt.” 

He is about to speak but she cuts him off. “I’m not done, bard. The more you put it off, the more it will hurt you when it happens. So take care of it, and soon. If you need, I will even make sure you are somewhere safe.” 

“You would do that?” He questions her motives for doing so, but refrains himself from voicing it. “It could take me days to regain what I need.” 

“Then days it will be. I will be the only sorceress living who will have witnessed a god in his true form,” she grins slightly. “And who knows if some of your powers won’t run free in my body as well?” 

He laughs a bit, shaking his head at her, and she looks pleased with herself. “I see your interests remain purely professional, Yennefer.” 

“Naturally,” she shrugs, stands up with a grace he still admires. “So. You will tell Ciri and Geralt, yes? And then we will take care of your problem.” 

“I will tell them tonight,” he agrees with a nod, and waits until she is halfway through the door to say softly, “Thank you, Yennefer.” 

She stops with the door open, looks back towards him, and a rare true smile is flashed at him. “Of course, Jaskier.”

 _Huh,_ he thinks, _I think I might be becoming friends with Yennefer_. 

When Geralt and Ciri walks back in a few minutes later, they find him laughing himself to tears.

His plan to tell Ciri and Geralt that evening are disrupted when an impromptu guest arrive. Jaskier hasn’t really picked up on who it is exactly, since the information came from Geralt, who had just grunted something about them being a lord of some kind. This means a small banquet is being held in one of the smaller halls of the castle. 

“Yen talked to you?” Geralt asks as Jaskier finishes preparing his hair. 

“She did.” He looks at his lover and smiles tenderly. “She is going to help me. I wanted to talk to you and Ciri tonight, but it will wait until after dinner, alright?” 

Geralt’s expression barely shifts but Jaskier knows how to read the slight tension that falls from his shoulders. He is relieved that Jaskier is going to be helped. 

“There is nothing I can do?” 

Jaskier shakes his head. “It’s already dangerous for a sorceress to do what Yennefer will do, and I would not risk you, my dear witcher.” 

Jaskier comes up to Geralt and kisses him deeply, enjoying the way Geralt asks for more, greedily taking it, and Jaskier pulls back panting, his hair a mess again. They still have some time before the banquet. 

“You’re late,” Yennefer greets them as they walk in the banquet hall. 

Ciri is off talking with some nobility, and she nods her head at them when she sees them walking in, but it is Yennefer who is sitting at the table. Already sipping her wine, the sorceress looks bored, and she takes in their appearance a second time before rolling her eyes. 

“That couldn’t wait for after dinner, boys?” 

Jaskier takes his seat at Geralt’s left. Yennefer is on the other side of Ciri’s empty chair, and the presence of the queen will give them a bit of a buffer, but for now… 

“Why, if I must endure unpleasant consequences from tomorrow onwards,” Jaskier replies with a smile, “I might as well enjoy its benefits for the night.” 

Geralt looks a bit confused but Yennefer grins slightly. “I have to agree, Geralt can be quite a benefit.” 

“Hmm.” Geralt looks at them both and frowns. “I’m not sure I like this conversation.” 

“Why, didn’t you and Ciri want us to get along?” Yennefer’s grin only widens, like a large cat playing with her prey. “We are now, you should appreciate that!” 

Jaskier laughs slightly, and Geralt frowns at him, but his eyes are fond. His hand comes to rest on Jaskier’s thigh, a comfortable weight that Jaskier always looks forward to when they have dinner. Sure, the way Geralt’s thumb caresses the inside of his thigh is slightly distracting, but it’s also one of the few ways Geralt publicly acknowledges their relationship. It might be unseen to most people, but it is present for Jaskier, and that’s all that matters. 

Dinner passes by slowly, and Ciri nods seriously when Jaskier says he will have to speak with her after. Their guest is seated next to Yennefer, and the sorceress doesn’t look too pleased by that, but she makes conversation with him for a bit before moving away, walking throughout the room and conversing with other nobles who managed to bring themselves for the night. Jaskier sings a few songs at Ciri’s request, and he chuckles brightly when someone requests _Toss A Coin_. He grins at Geralt and starts the song, most of the hall joining in. He can even see Yennefer mouthing the words to a glaring Geralt. 

They are at dessert, and Ciri’s guest is in the room, talking with some lord, when Geralt’s hand tightens on Jaskier’s thigh as he hears something Jaskier doesn’t. 

“What is it?” Jaskier asks immediately, but Geralt doesn’t have the time to answer before a loud guffaw from the lord who had invited himself over is heard. 

“Yes, I assure you, the witcher debases himself by fucking his bard! I mean, look at where the bard is seated, it’s unseemly.” The lord doesn’t seem to realize that half the hall has heard him, because he continues speaking loudly, “And the Queen is allowing that! I tell you, at the time of her grandmother, that wouldn’t have happened! She isn’t really fit to be Queen of all of us now, is she? More witcher than human that one, I’ve heard.” 

Silence settles over the hall, and Jaskier is still. The fire inside him roars loudly, the anger at hearing his family insulted that way so bright that he can feel it taking over. 

“I see you are quite thankful for Cintra’s hospitality, my lord,” Ciri says icily. “Rest assured, however, that I am perfectly aware Queen Calanthe wouldn’t have allowed this. But then, she wouldn’t have let you set foot in those halls after you arrived the way you did.” 

“My Queen,” the man sputters, finally realizing he has been heard, “I only meant that… You have spent so much time outside of Cintra, I’m merely concerned that you do not understand the … finer things about our culture anymore.” 

Jaskier’s hand, still holding a knife, tightens, and the wood of the handle splinters and falls to dust underneath his grip. He can feel Geralt’s eyes on him, but his anger is too bright now, it has taken hold of him. 

“Apologize to your Queen,” he says roughly, feels his humanity slowly slipping. 

“I won’t take orders from a bard,” the man scoffs, and his second mistake is to look back towards Ciri. 

His first mistake was to open his mouth in the first place. 

Yennefer realizes what is about to happen a split second before Geralt, and she yells immediately. “Everyone out! Now!”

The order she gives is full of power, and everyone leaves in a scramble, except the one who insulted them. The Lord is rooted to the floor, and his face is full of panic as he realizes he can’t move. Jaskier can feel Yennefer’s magic pushing at the lord, trying to get him to move, but he is Jaskier’s now. 

“I told you to apologize,” Jaskier growls, and he is standing up now. 

The lights die out in the hall, blown away by an unseen breeze, and the lord falls to his knees, the impact of it loud in the silent room. 

“What—“ Ciri asks, but then Geralt is wrapping her in his arms, making sure she doesn’t catch a sight of Jaskier. 

Jaskier has transformed, that’s the only way Geralt can think of it. If he tries to look closely, he can still see Jaskier underneath, but he has to ignore the golden fire that surrounds him first. 

“Shit,” Geralt grunts and pushes Ciri to the floor, “Keep your eyes closed.” 

“Geralt, what is happening,” she asks as she falls to the floor. “What’s Jaskier doing?” 

“He is doing his godly thing,” Yennefer answers, her magic already working to close every door and window, trying to containing the amazing rush of magic and energy. “I need to take him away!” 

“No!” Geralt growls, a hand already on his sword, “You won’t do anything to him!” 

“He agreed to it Geralt!” She turns her eyes on him, wide and honest. “He doesn’t want this!” 

This refers to what’s happening right now. Geralt feels his blood boiling as he looks at his bard. His mind can barely comprehend what he is perceiving. A god isn’t meant to be seen by a mortal, Jaskier had told him that. Jaskier had also told him that he was emotionless in this form, but… With the way his being, the way he has captured the man’s cheeks in his hand and is slowly draining the life out of him, Geralt doubts that. 

The rush of magic fills his ears as Yennefer yells, trying to contain Jaskier’s magic. She can’t though, he can see the way her hands are already crackling, the way blood is slowly falling from her eyes, and Geralt pushes her out of the way. 

“Stop!” He orders her. “If he needs you to take him somewhere else, then you need to be capable of doing it! Don’t waste your energy right now!” 

“He’ll destroy us all,” she pants slightly, “He’ll destroy you too if I can’t bring him somewhere safe.” 

“I know.” He growls those words and closes his eyes, wishing he had his potions. He doesn’t want to face the one he loves this way, but it’s for Jaskier’s own good. 

Jaskier is all sharp teeth and roaring fire when Geralt throws himself at him. He knocks the god out of his focus and the lord, dead and purple with the lack of blood in his system, falls to the ground with a dull thud. 

“Jaskier,” Geralt calls out, seeing Yennefer quickly eating something to regain some energy. Ciri is still on the ground, but she has opened her eyes. She looks alright so far, but Geralt’s own defences are starting to fail him, so he can’t risk it for too long. 

“Jaskier! Listen to me! We are safe,” he yells the words as Jaskier’s eyes, two infinite pools of blue that capture his very soul, settle on him, “Ciri is safe, I’m safe, there is no need for this!” 

The god extends a hand, strangely human for an instant as it caresses Geralt’s cheek. “Mine. Protect.” 

The voice isn’t Jaskier’s. It’s older than the world, older than life itself, and yet Geralt can feel it tumbling around him like a cascade of sweet wine. This is the voice of a god, the voice of Jaskier before he was Jaskier. Despite the words, it feels like a life sentence has been pronounced. Geralt falls to his knees unwillingly, soul and body captured by those two endless blue irises. 

“Geralt!” Yennefer’s voice, close.

Geralt closes his eyes, unable to keep looking any longer, and before passing into darkness, he hears the sound of a portal and two yells. One is distinctively human, the other not so much. And then there is nothing anymore. 

Geralt wakes up with some difficulty. A body, too small to be Jaskier’s, is curled up next to him, and when he looks down he sees the golden locks of Ciri. The events of the previous night — was it the previous night, or was he unconscious longer? — come back to him, and he sits up with a groan. His head feels heavy, but he doesn’t feel any injury on his body. 

“Geralt…?” Ciri’s voice is small and when she looks up slowly, there are dry tears stuck to her cheeks. 

He gathers her in his arms and hugs her tightly. “You’re alright?” 

“Yes,” she nods and lets him hold her before pushing back against his chest slightly. “What happened to Jaskier?” 

He sighs heavily. That’s a good question. Jaskier had never lost control that way, but there had been something so sudden when he had… And yet, Geralt had seen it coming anyway. 

“He wanted to tell you himself, but since he isn’t exactly available…” Geralt sighs again. “Jaskier is a god. I know it sounds insane—“ 

“Not so much after what happened two nights ago,” she still looks a bit shocked but looks at him resolutely. “Why did he do that?” 

“I don’t know,” Geralt answers honestly. “We’ll have to ask him when he comes back. I’m pretty sure that’s what he wanted to talk to us about after the banquet the other day.” 

“Where did Yennefer takes him?” 

So many questions he doesn’t have the answer to… “I don’t know. Yennefer said Jaskier agreed to be taken away. So apparently… This was something they knew would happen.” 

She doesn’t ask anything else after that, and he is grateful. He holds her tightly and they rest like this, silent and worried. 

Jaskier and Yennefer don’t return for a week. There are no news from the sorceress either, and Geralt is getting angrier and angrier about the situation with every passing minutes. Jaskier clearly knew there was something wrong with him, knew that this was going to happen at some point, and he hadn’t said anything to Geralt. He had called it “a temporary weakness”. 

Strangely, Ciri is calmer about the whole situation. When she realizes he isn’t listening to a word she says on the fifth night, she grabs a book from her study and hits him over the head with it.

“Here witcher, read a book, instruct yourself on the god you’ve given your heart to.” 

He grunts but picks up the book. He reads it in between two training sessions, which are the only thing keeping him sane. 

The book talks about a mysterious creature, with fire in its veins, who needs to regenerates itself every fifty years or so, in an endless cycle. The description of the beast is erroneous, and the language is so outdated it takes Geralt a long time to understand that, what is described is not a phoenix, but rather a god. It has clearly been copied over from an Elder language, and Geralt can spot the inaccuracies and the way the writer didn’t know exactly what they were writing about, but they still describe something akin to Jaskier. Weak to cold, and losing control if it isn’t able to regenerate itself, the book indicates, and the pieces fall into a clear picture for Geralt. 

Had he known this, he would have been able to see the signs, to prevent Jaskier from hurting himself this way. Was his lover ashamed of needing to be in his primal form? Did he not want Geralt to see him this way? 

When the portal opens back in the devastated banquet hall, he is waiting. Whenever he isn’t training, he is waiting here nowadays. When he feels tiredness coming over him, he meditates. He wouldn’t be able to sleep anyway, not without Jaskier back with him anyway. He misses his lover in a way that has made his body sing in pain. 

“Geralt,” Jaskier breathes out, and fear is in his eyes suddenly. Not fear of Geralt, but fear of being rejected. Yet, he looks better than he has in days. In years, maybe.

Next to him is a tired-looking Yennefer. She doesn’t look exhausted, which means she has gotten some rest in her watch over Jaskier, but she is tired enough to glower at Geralt slightly. 

“Where is Ciri?” 

“With her counsellors,” Geralt answers, his eyes back on Jaskier’s face. 

She leaves the room with a loud huff of annoyance, and then Geralt is alone with Jaskier, for the first time in days. 

“I’m sorry, I should have told you, I just didn’t want you to worry! And then I also had to tell Ciri, but I wanted to make sure she knew it didn’t change anything about me and—“ 

He is cut off by Geralt grabbing him and kissing him. The kiss is all passion and no tenderness, Geralt’s relief at seeing him fading to an anger that has built up over the week. 

“You left me,” he growls. “You left me without knowing where the fuck you had gone or if you would ever be back. You planned this with fucking Yennefer!” 

“To be fair,” Jaskier pants with a slight bemused smile, “I only planned it with Yen that very morning. And I meant to tell you, I really did but— Wait.” He interrupts himself. “Why does it sound like you know what went on?” 

“I had to read a fucking book on you to have a fucking idea of what was going on with you, Jaskier!” 

“A book? Well now that’s new. I didn’t know they had books on me.” 

Geralt growls again and kisses him until he has to breathe. Jaskier’s lips are red when he looks back, and a pearl of blood has appeared where Geralt bit too hard. 

“Don’t you ever do that on me again, you hear? When you need to burn or whatever, you tell me. I’ll be there for you.” 

Jaskier smiles tenderly and caresses his cheek, in the exact same motion he had when he had been in his godly form. He nods and kisses his witcher tenderly. 

“I promise, my dear love. I won’t ever keep it hidden from you again.” 

Geralt nods, satisfied with the promise, and hugs him tightly, letting all the anger and fear of losing his lover go. Jaskier is back in his arms, and they can finally learn to be honest with each other. 

“Are you going to suffocate me all day or can I see Ciri as well?” The muffled voice of Jaskier teases him and Geralt rolls his eyes. 

“Can’t I get you to myself for a moment?” 

“Well now that wouldn’t be fair,” Ciri’s voice echoes at the entrance of the hall, “don’t I deserve to see my second father as well?” 

She smiles brightly and runs to hug Jaskier. “Oh, I am so glad you are alright! Geralt was panicking so much I thought we might have really lost you!” 

Jaskier holds her tightly and gives a grin to his lover. “Panicking over me, our dear witcher? You must be mistaken your Highness.” 

She giggles with him, and Geralt grunts. Yennefer is leaning against the doorway, a small smile on her face, and he nods at her in thanks. She rolls her eyes and walks back to them, putting her hand on his shoulder. 

“He is tougher than he looks,” she says lightly. “Gave me quite the burst of energy. Think about bringing him by, the next time that happens, will you? I haven’t felt that much power since… Well since forever!” 

“I’m not giving you more energy,” Jaskier protests. “You already got your boost as a thanks, I think that’s quite enough.” 

“I stopped you from draining the whole castle,” she argues back, “I think I deserve more than one surge of power from you, godling.” 

They start bickering but Geralt cuts in by lifting Jaskier and throwing him over his shoulder. He looks at Ciri with a faint smile. 

“Get Yen to rest up, will you?” 

Ciri grins eagerly and takes Yennefer’s arm, leading her away. 

“Not that I don’t appreciate the view,” Jaskier says and taps Geralt’s ass. “But mind putting me down?” 

“I’m not letting you go anywhere,” Geralt grunts and starts walking. 

“I could force you to.” 

“But you won’t.” 

Jaskier sighs happily. “But I won’t.” 

Geralt brings him back to their chamber and tosses him on the bed. He isn’t planning on letting his bard go anywhere for at least the next day.

**Author's Note:**

> If you want, leave a comment! Tell me what you liked/what you disliked/what you want more of/anything! Or drop me off an ask on tumblr (@saltytransidiot)! If you want more, do NOT hesitate. I am always looking for an excuse to write more :D 
> 
> Thank you for reading! Enjoy your day/night, and stay safe!


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